


Over her

by Dominatrix



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drama in the end, F/M, Humor in the beginning, There sails my OTP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 05:35:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dominatrix/pseuds/Dominatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John notices that Sherlock is still not over her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over her

**Author's Note:**

> Let's just assume that Sherlock used Irene's moan for all of his text messages after her "death". Otherwise it doesn't work out.

„John, I want a cat.“

John opened his eyes, still sleepy, and got almost scared to death when he saw a tall, slender silhouette standing next to his bed. “Sherlock, why are you standing here in the dark? What do you want?”

„A cat.“ While John sat up he rubbed his eyes und suppressed a yawn. The light which was turned on burned heavily, bright lights danced behind his view and John would’ve liked to chase Sherlock out.

“Sherlock, this is not a good environment for a cat.” To be honest it wasn’t a good environment for any kind of living being. Including him. How often had he almost killed himself at breakfast because Sherlock did some kind of chemical reactions with acids in tea cups?

“You would probably shoot or poison her by mistake.”

“John, I want a cat” his friend insisted.

“Right now?”

“If possible.”

„And why right now, Sherlock?“

„Why not?“

„It’s two o’clock in the morning“ he groaned with a look on his alarm clock. His flat mate looked at his with a completely clueless view as if he had no idea why the mentioning of this detail would be important for his demand.

“We could call her Irene.” John let himself sink back in the pillows again and breathed heavily.

“Here we go again.”

“What? Irene is an excellent name for a cat. Strong, independent, beautiful, dominant…“ John shook his head. He was used to Sherlock’s strange ideas, but this was going too far. With a sigh he got himself out of bed.

"Do you leave to get me a cat?” Sherlock asked with a hopeful spark in his eyes.

„No. I’ll get my revolver. I can’t look at this anymore.“

When John returned from the living room he found Sherlock sitting on his bed, fingertips leaned against each other. Obviously he was in his mind palace once again. At one memory Sherlock smiled, and John knew only too well what the trigger was for all this.

“You’re still not over her, are you?” Only the thought that Sherlock had to get over something or someone seemed almost ridiculous. But it was really like this.

“Over whom?”

„ _The Woman_ , Sherlock.“

„She’s in the witness protection program“ he murmured. John did not want to hurt his friend, but it was the only way to free Sherlock from this terrible condition.

“Oh please, we both know that she…isn’t” John said carefully. Sherlock head turned around abruptly, and his veiled view cleared all of a sudden.

“How do _you_ know?”

“Mycroft.“

Sherlock nodded shortly. “I didn’t know that he was there in Pakistan, too. I thought I had ensured nobody would remain.”

“Pardon?”

„It’s nothing…“

„Sherlock, she won’t return.“

„John, what makes you believe that I can’t let go of this lady?”

„You wanted to get yourself a cat and call her Irene.“

“Irene is a common name for a cat.”

“Sherlock” John said frowning. “Our goddamn teakettle is called Irene.” Something in Sherlock’s face twitched nervously before he had gotten himself under control again.

“I understand. I’m tired John. I’m going to sleep now.“ Without a single word more he rose and closed the door after he had left the room.

Sherlock did not show up for four days, neither for eating nor for other occasions. Not even Mrs Hudson was allowed to enter his bedroom.

On Saturday Sherlock left his room only to get his violin before he disappeared again. John didn’t dare to address him.

From this moment on the same melancholic melodies haunted the flat, twenty-four hours a day. At some point John got used to it so well that he could sleep while Sherlock was playing.

On Monday afternoon Sherlock stepped into the living room and started to work on the new case Lestrade had given them.

He never lost a word about the cat again.

On Tuesday morning there was a new teakettle in the kitchen. The old one had disappeared. Sherlock refused to explain why he had replaced it.

When they sat in the living room together a short noise sounded like the one of on old bell. Sherlock pulled his phone out of his trouser pocket and looked at the display.

“A text message. Lestrade writes that we should be ready in ten minutes.” John looked at him in confusion.

„A new ringtone, Sherlock?“

„Yes“ he replied. „It was time.“

Sherlock played much more violin than he had before, but no matter how long he played, never again John heard the melody his flat mate…his friend had composed after he had met Irene Adler.


End file.
